The Witches Revenge
by Eden C
Summary: We all know Macbeth's version of events leading up to his downfall...but did anyone ever consider that there was more to the story... Rated T just in case


**Author's Note:**

**I wrote this for class report.**

**Enjoy!**

There was no denying it: I was ugly, hideous, revolting, deformed. Blood coated my once impeccable face; scratches marred my once healthy, pink cheeks; my lips were cracked and leaking puss and gore; my lone eye roamed wildly. And the pain—the pain was screaming through my mind—swallowing me up in its vulnerability. Repeating its deathly words—its reminder of my suffering. The pain filled me. I was the pain.

I couldn't cry. I couldn't shout. I was alone. Alone! With the pain and the memory—the memory of a life long past, though in reality, a life I had only yesterday. It hurt me to remember what had occurred, but I reminisced on the painful experience so that it would be fresh in my mind while I plotted revenge. I let the memory bleed profusely through my thoughts. The idea of reprisal was sweet.

_I brushed my long tresses back in a careless manner and admired myself in the water bowl. Striking, deep, green eyes stared back at me—perfect, infallible, the epitome of beauty. I flashed myself a smile, and my face lit up with the innocent glow of youth. I was beautiful and I knew it._

A firm hand gripped my shoulders and yanked me to the ground. I shouted in protest, but to no avail. Struggling futilely, I was dragged unceremoniously down the byway and through the decrepit cesspools. I was deposited before the Thane, an emaciated, though muscular, man with a hawk-nose.

_His accusation still rang clear in my ears. In his familiar monotonous droll he stated the charges: I was accused of witchcraft—of conspiring with the black arts, and thereby with the devil. I protested that the charge was a frame, but the town, with all their calculations and statements, proved without doubt—at least in the Thane's eyes—that I was guilty._

Before I knew it, I was beaten and tortured, defacing my features and maiming me for life. Somehow I escaped, but now I was forced to live a half-life—a life where I knew what I could have had, and knew what I lost.

Recollecting the memory was painful, yet necessary. _Those that killed my reputation _will_ pay,_ I promised grimly.

That night, I slept under the stars, blanketed with the black of the night. When subconscious finally claimed me, I fell into a troubled stupor, chased in and out of reality by wakeful nightmares. Finally, I fell into a fitful slumber. And that's when I dreamed.

I was surrounded by darkness. I couldn't tell if I was blind or not, so absolute was the dark. It weighed on me with a heavy tension, as if in anticipation. A figure suddenly rose out of the shadows and bent low over me. It was a woman—a white body with a ghostly, ghoulish outline. She crooned to me, words of comfort, words of hope. Words of revenge. She told me the pain and suffering I could inflict on those that hurt me.

I smiled despite myself—a fitting punishment for them. By agreeing to conspire with the Goddess Hecate, I was aligning myself with the dark arts—the sorcery for which I was initially punished. The idea appealed to me, and I allowed myself to be swept away in the river of hate and power that flowed liberally into my dreams.

Oh yes, I crowed gleefully. Macbeth would pay for the pain he inflicted on me...

He would pay dearly…

"When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?" I hissed to my cohorts. A steady flow of expectancy coursed through my blood. Today was the day—the day Macbeth would pay.

"When the hurly-burly's done, when the battles lost and won."

"That will be ere the set of sun."

I smiled eagerly, "Where the place?"

"Upon the heath."

"There to meet Macbeth." The very name sent shivers of excitement through my veins. _Macbeth_, I though triumphantly, _your end is near…_

**Banquo POV**

Thunder reverberated in the distance and lighting illuminated the tempest-twisted sky. Macbeth walked beside me in his assured manner grumbling about the weather.

Suddenly, I looked up and—lo! —there before us were three strange beings: each uglier than the next. They had distinct feminine appearances, but I was hesitant to conclude anything because of their facial hair.

I realized they were talking—no chanting—to us, greeting Macbeth as Thane of both Glamis and Cawdor, as well as the future king! Then they turned to me and foretold my happiness and greatness.

I was inclined to believe them, however, mixed emotions held me back, I was resigned to trust their pretty words, and I told Macbeth so.

"The instruments of darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray's in deepest consequence." Macbeth scoffed at my worries, brushing aside the thoughts as inconsequential.

Still, inside, I feared…

**Witch 1 POV**

I smiled in triumph thinking of the look on Macbeth's face when I had vanished. _It was just the right touch_, I approved.

For the first time in many years, I slept well…


End file.
